Page 60 of Hate That Blooms
I just wanted to let you know I started seeing a therapist. I’m trying to deal with everything that went down between my parents in a healthier way.
I stare at the message for a moment, unsure how to react. He’s finally facing the things that have hurt us and that have hurt him. I’m not sure if it’s a good sign or just another attempt to make up for past mistakes, but it’s a sign of something. A step in the right direction, maybe.
I don’t think twice before typing back.
I’m glad to hear that, Joaquín. But I think you need to think about where you’re living, too. Maybe being with your dad isn’t helping. He drinks, and from what Thiago has told Cora, he says things that aren’t fair to you. It’s hard to heal when you’re in that environment.
I hit send, then hold my breath, wondering if I’ve overstepped. But I mean it. Joaquín can’t keep pretending that living with a man who blames him for everything that’s gone wrong in their lives isn’t a problem.
A few minutes pass before his response comes through.
I know. It’s hard. But I’m trying to figure it out. I’ll think about what you said. Thanks for being honest with me.
Chapter38
Joaquín
It’s been a week since I last saw her—since I started trying to figure my life out. I can’t say I’m completely there yet, but I’m getting closer.
I took her advice and moved into my own place, a tiny one-bedroom apartment in a building that smells like old coffee and possibly has a mold problem, but it’s mine. Somehow I manage to make a little more than I spend, so I’m still saving money. I’m working harder than I ever have before. Every extra shift I pick up, every hour spent doing something that’ll get me ahead, feels like a step toward putting my past behind me.
Living with my dad? That was never going to be an option again. Not after everything. After the fights, the anger, and the words thrown at me that still echo in my head. I can’t change what he says, but I can change where I live. I can control that much. Once I told him that I got the job at the power company, he lost it. I knew that I had to get out of there.
But even with the small victories—paying rent, getting my shit together—there’s still that ache inside me. The one that never seems to go away. The ache that’s tied to her. Gabriela. It’s stupid. Any normal guy would’ve moved on by now. But I can’t shake the feeling that we are supposed to be together. She’s it for me.
That’s why I’m at the grocery store today. I tell myself I’m just here to grab a few things for dinner—some ground beef, some salad mix, the usual. But I know today is the day she does her shopping. In the cereal aisle, I see her.
I freeze for a moment, heart pounding. She’s a few feet away, and for a second, I think about turning around and walking out of the store. It’s easier that way. Avoiding her. Pretending like I’m fine when I’m anything but.
But before I can turn away, I hear her voice. It’s frantic, urgent—the kind of voice you hear when a parent is at the end of their rope.
“Mireya, stop!” Gabriela’s voice cracks as she tries to keep her sister from throwing another tantrum. “Please, just calm down.”
I step closer to them, and that’s when I see her. Mireya is screaming, her little face flushed red, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s kicking her feet, thrashing in her sister’s arms. Gabriela looks exhausted, her hair messy, and her eyes wild with frustration. She’s trying to control a situation she has no control over, and I see the panic in her face.
My chest tightens. I want to help, but I don’t know how. Part of me wants to keep walking to avoid the mess she’s in. But the other part of me—maybe the part that’s finally ready to make things right—moves toward her.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stand to see her struggling like this.
“Hey,” I say, voice low but steady. Gabriela’s head snaps toward me, her eyes wide with surprise. It feels like it’s been long since we’ve seen each other. She doesn’t expect to see me here, and I’m sure I don’t expect to see her in this moment. But here we are.
“Mireya’s having a meltdown,” Gabriela says, her voice tight with frustration. She’s clearly trying to keep it together, but I can see she’s close to breaking.
“I see that,” I say, stepping closer. I can’t just stand here and watch. Not when I know what it feels like to be that powerless. “Here, let me help.”
She hesitates, looking at me like she doesn’t know if she should trust me. I don’t blame her. She’s probably wondering what the hell I’m even doing here and why I’d suddenly decide to show up now. But the way Mireya’s thrashing around... it gets to me. I can’t stand to see her sister in that much distress.
“Come on,” I say, holding my arms out. “Let me take her for a minute. You need a break.”
At first, Gabriela doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me, unsure. But then she takes a deep breath and hands me Mireya. The little girl is still crying, but as I scoop her up, I hold her close, rocking her gently in my arms.
“Princesa,” I whisper in her ear, giving her some gentle squeezes while I rock her. I know she likes the pressure and I’ve been reading up on parenting autistic children, so if Gabriela lets me back into their life, I’m going to be the best I can be for Mireya. “I’ve got you.”
Mireya doesn’t stop crying right away, but the sheer weight of holding her and the way she finally feels safe in my arms make me think it might help. Slowly, her sobs start to calm down, her tiny body going limp as the exhaustion of the tantrum overtakes her. Then I feel her little fingers tugging my hair, something only she does. I’ll never cut my hair short, just so those curls are always there for her.
“Thank you,” Gabriela says, voice barely above a whisper. I could just tell she was relieved by the way her shoulder dropped, and how she let out a deep breath. She looks almost... grateful. But there’s something else in her eyes too—something I can’t quite place. She still hasn’t said a word to me since I walked up, and I’m wondering if she’s still angry, still hurt by everything that went down.
She has every right to be.
